


gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight

by thejoker (definekjd)



Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, M/M, Porn With Plot, Sneaking Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 02:46:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17479739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/definekjd/pseuds/thejoker
Summary: Omar is just getting used to Ander visiting him for ten minutes everyday when one night he gets Ander sneaking into his bedroom through the window.





	gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'ed, only proofread by myself once. title from the [abba](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XEjLoHdbVeE) song.

Omar is stirred awake at the sudden weight and warmth of a body on top of his, the ghost of a hot breath on his neck.

He opens his eyes to take stock of the whole situation, blinking blearily. "What are you doing here?" he asks, voice barely audible as he relaxes back into the soft sheet of his bed because, oh, it's just Ander.

The grin that stretches on Ander's face is boyish and a tad bit too playful. "Missed you," he says, leaning back in to press a soft kiss on Omar's exposed neck.

"How did you get in?"

"Window," Ander says, but he's distracted, licking a hot, wet tongue up the line of Omar's neck.

It wakes Omar up as he pushes at Ander and props himself up on his elbows, eyes finally focusing in the darkness. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" he hisses.

Ander just giggles, stifling it behind a hand, like a little kid on crack. He shushes Omar up, still giggling. "You might wake Nadia up," he says, softly, crawling closer to nip at Omar's jawline. His hands slip under the covers to palm at Omar's crotch roughly and, okay, maybe Omar is a little turned on.

"We can't do this here," Omar says, even as he bucks up to Ander's hand, seeking friction.

Ander emerges from the crook of Omar's neck, a cheeky grin on his face. "Where do you suggest we fuck instead?"

Omar curses, maybe more than once. He pulls Ander in by the front of his shirt and kisses him, pressing firmly against the soft, plush lips, partly to wipe the smug smile off Ander's pretty face, but mostly because Ander is starting to rub more insistently at Omar's crotch now and Omar needs something to swallow his moans lest they wake Nadia up.

The mere passing thought of Nadia makes Omar break the kiss. _Ugh_.

"We should go," Omar says, pushing at Ander who's still grinning like a total idiot. He swipes Ander's hand off his crotch. "Fuck, Ander, just _go_."

"Okay, okay," Ander says, shuffling back and his eyes shining, crinkling. "It's cold out. Go get your shitty jacket."

Across the room, Nadia is still fast asleep when Omar turns briefly to check, her mouth slightly parted as she snores softly. Omar grabs for the jacket slung over his study chair and watches, unamused, as Ander awkwardly forces his long legs over the ledge of the only window in Omar's bedroom, squeezing himself through the tiny space.

"Idiot," Omar breathes out, inaudibly, but follows suit anyway.

It's almost freezing outside. Omar hastily shrugs on his jacket, struggling to put it on properly as Ander gets busy pulling him into a kiss that's mostly teeth because he's still very much grinning. He doesn't smell or taste like alcohol or weed though, so Omar indulges him for a long second, wrapping a hand around the back of Ander's neck to pull him in so he can suck on Ander's bottom lip properly, before yanking him back so he can look Ander in the eye.

"What the fuck is up with you?"

Ander raises his brows, smile wide and beautiful and _blinding_. "What?" he asks back. His fingers dig into either side of Omar's unzipped jacket, pulling him several steps away from his house and closer to Ander.

"Why are you smiling?"

Ander's brows rise even further. "Why are _you_ smiling?" He giggles again.

Omar loves Ander's giggles so much, loves seeing him happy and carefree like this.

"Well, it's just. Exhilarating, you see," Ander says. They're on the street now. Under the crappy yellow lighting of the street lamp, Ander looks especially soft. "The good Muslim boy who sells drugs and sucks cock and, who would've guessed, _sneaks out at night_."

"Shut _up_ ," Omar chides, smacking Ander's stomach with the back of his hand. He means neither. "What time is it?" he asks, stepping forward to close the gap between them again.

"Two?" Ander says, gaze flicking down to Omar's mouth. "Almost three, maybe."

This late into the night, and this early in the morning, Omar can be sure that there's practically no one around. No one to shoot them the dirty eye or call them names that hurt or, worst of all, tell on them. Maybe... maybe this is okay. Maybe Omar can do this.

"Well, you said you wanna fuck?" Omar challenges. "Get on with it, then. Fuck me."

"What – you mean – _here_?" Ander asks, taken off-guard. He takes in the grin on Omar's face and rolls his eyes. "Well, it's – _cold_ ," he reasons, pouting a bit.

He's so fucking cute.

"That your only excuse?" Omar teases, biting into his bottom lip and stepping closer until they're basically pressed up to each other, chest to chest under the moonlight.

Ander's sharp nose is cute and his lashes are cute and the mole under his left eye is _super cute_. It feels like seeing an angel.

Omar wants nothing more than to lower this angel onto a soft, comfortable nest of fluffy bedding, to hear the beautiful moans he'll be letting out as Omar fucks into his ass nice and deep, fast and rough, until Ander is seeing white and chanting his name.

Right now, though, he presses his crotch to Ander's so Ander can feel his hard-on through the flimsy material of Omar's sweatpants.

"We can – fuck – my place?" Ander tries. His breath puffs hot against Omar's cheeks, strung tight.

Omar nods. "We can definitely fuck your place."

"You're the _worst_ ," Ander says, even as he grins and wraps his hand around Omar's, pulling him towards the direction of his house. "Let's go."

*

Omar has always wanted to have a bedroom all to himself. Sometimes he just needs a place he can be alone in because emotional health is important, but mostly it's just weird as fuck having your sister right across the room when you need to jerk off – _ugh_ , what a turn off.

So he's glad at least _one_ of them has a bedroom all to himself.

Ander says he's from a middle-class family, far from the excessive wealth that all the other Las Encinas students bathe in and take for granted, but his room is spacious, filled with a handful of things only people with money to spend can buy.

Omar thinks it's more the perks of being an only child than anything else.

"We still have to be quiet," Ander reminds him, looking a bit less confident now that they're in the confines of his own room, like he's waiting for Omar to say something.

Omar has seen Ander's room exactly once. He hadn't really paid attention, even then, because really, he'd been too preoccupied with wanting to make the most out of their possibly last intimate moment together. Complimenting Ander for his wallpaper choices was the last thing in his mind.

"But I wanna hear you," Omar says, stepping up to Ander and pushing him to the bed with his hands on Ander's hip.

Ander goes willingly, dropping down with a bounce on the mattress. "My parents are just down the hall," he breathes out.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

"Yeah?" Omar asks.

He doesn't wait for Ander's answer. And if Ander does have an answer to that, it matters not, because Omar isn't listening anymore. He's more focused on surging forward and kissing the breath out of Ander as he pushes Ander to lie down on his bed, the rumpled sheet, hurried hands travelling down to pull at Ander's pants.

"Off, now," Omar demands.

Ander doesn't snipe back with a teasing remark. Omar's come to learn, Ander's witty comebacks seem to leave him when it comes to sex. So instead of opening his mouth to speak, Ander is panting into Omar's mouth, breathing harshly and kissing messily at the same time as he shucks his jacket and shirt off and yanks his pants down his legs, kicking his boxers off after.

Omar wraps his fingers around Ander's cock, already half-hard, curving prettily against the soft skin of his hip, a whole sight to behold.

"Fuck, O _mar_ ," he gasps, then bites into his lower lip to suppress a low moan.

Omar jerks him off for a brief minute or two, indulging Ander as he thrusts slowly into the loose circle of Omar's fingers. Then he says, "I want to fuck you."

Ander's response is immediate. "Yeah, okay," he affirms, nodding fervently.

They part for a short moment as Omar gets rid of his own clothes and takes a packet of condom and another of lube from Ander's discarded jacket – Omar's teaching, for some reason parents never check there – while Ander gets himself comfortable further up the bed, propping himself up on the two pillows that he stacks against the headboard.

"I've fingered myself," Ander says as soon as Omar gets between his spread legs with his fingers tearing the lube packet open, that playful smile back on Ander's face again.

Omar can't fucking believe him.

"I fingered myself, just now, thinking of you, that's how I ended up at your place," he confesses, the coyness gone entirely.

"I can't fucking believe you," Omar voices out loud.

The laugh that Ander lets out is breathless and beautiful. "Just don't waste the lube. I paid for that."

So Omar coats his own dick with it, lubing it up slow and nice as he fucks minutely into his own hand. Soon, Ander wraps his hand around Omar's, tightening his grip and working it up and down just that tad bit faster, flicking his wrist in that way he's quickly learned is Omar's favourite, makes Omar hard very effectively.

Omar's slippery fingers prove to be useless, so Ander wipes his own less slick fingers on his bed sheet, uncaring, and puts the condom on for Omar. Omar wipes his fingers off on the sheet too, as best as he can.

"What are you gonna say when your mom finds the stains?"

Ander grunts, hands holding Omar on the waist to pull him closer. "Can we not talk about family when we're fucking?" Softer, he adds, "Or just. Ever."

Omar smiles. There's a deeper, more serious matter implied there, but Ander is right – now is not the time.

Now, Omar lines his cock against the cleft of Ander's ass as Ander lets out a shuddery breath and pulls Omar down with an arm hooked around his neck for a kiss that's more slow than heated, his soft lips sliding against Omar's unhurriedly like they've got all the time in the world.

The first slide of Omar's cock into Ander's slick hole is heady, a trail of pleasure spiking up Omar's spine as they both moan into the kiss.

"Fuck. So good," Ander breathes out against Omar's mouth, chest heaving and hands curling around Omar's neck.

Omar likes the comforting feeling of having Ander's hands around his neck, warm and secure, and sometimes Ander likes to cup his thumb and forefinger under Omar's ears and that is good too. In return Omar likes touching Ander. Likes trailing his hands down Ander's soft chest and tummy and up the unmarred span of his long neck and play with his cute little earring. Likes to bury his fingers in the soft curls of Ander's hair, dig his nails into Ander's plump buttcheeks.

Ander hooks his legs around Omar's back, pulling him in and caging his waist between sturdy thighs a dedicated tennis player like Ander would definitely have. It brings them closer, Ander's ass grazing against Omar's balls, and everything builds up quickly from there, Omar fucking into Ander's ass in a quick, messy rhythm as Ander meets him halfway, fucking himself eagerly on Omar's cock so it goes deeper in his ass.

The moment breaks not long after though, of course, because Ander is an impatient little shit. He pushes at Omar as he instructs, "Up, up," until Omar is sitting on the bed and Ander is crawling onto Omar's lap and fucking himself down on Omar's cock, rolling his hip so fluidly Omar has to claw at Ander's waist because it's suddenly _too much_.

" _Ander_ , it's – ah, _fuck_ –"

Omar is sure he's the one chanting Ander's name at this point, even if he can't really hear himself because Ander has resumed kissing him, harder this time, tasting Omar and licking at Omar's tongue and sucking on it. It's all so dirty and messy and frantic, Ander rocking down hard and fast on Omar's cock, hips slamming against one another and skin glistening with sweat, and Omar thinks – as he kisses Ander with his eyes open so he doesn't miss a single thing – Ander is so fucking beautiful.

The garden lights in the backyard are on and what minimal lighting manages to stream through the thin curtains of Ander's bedroom windows illuminates Ander's face like the true masterpiece that he is. His lashes, long and pretty, flutter against his soft, soft cheeks, and his moles – his goddamn heavenly moles – and his tiny little freckles adorn his face like stars on a clear night sky void of bustling city lights. His curly hair, damp with sweat, sticks to his forehead and frames his face beautifully, and, fuck, he's so fucking gorgeous Omar thinks he belongs in the most prestigious art gallery Spain can offer.

Sometimes Omar thinks he doesn't deserve any of this – Ander who's beautiful and passionate and kind and understanding and loving – but maybe he does, after all.

Because Omar looks at Ander like the sun revolves around him, but Ander looks at Omar the same exact way.

Like Omar is the absolute reprieve to any problem that he's got going on, like Omar is the only thing that makes him truly happy, like he's the only ending Ander is willing to accept before the play ends and the curtains close.

Like Omar hung all the stars and planets in the sky when they're actually mottled on Ander's skin, on his chest and along his brow bones and all over the broad span of his shoulders. (Hell, he even has a cute little sun-and-crescent tattoo under his collarbone to complete the picture.)

Ander is so, so, _so_ – "So fucking beautiful," Omar tells him out loud, because he deserves to know.

Ander's mouth hangs open, a litany of incomprehensible words spilling out of his mouth, gasps and moans and Omar's name, over and over again. "Touch me," Ander gasps, "Omar."

Omar slips a hand between their bodies and wraps it around Ander's cock, now fully hard and twitching at the touch. Ander's grip on Omar's shoulders tightens like a vice, and his hot ass around Omar's cock even _more_ , and Omar starts stroking Ander's length quickly, pressing at the leaking tip to slick it up as Ander bucks frantically into his fingers.

There's no rhythm to Omar's hand around Ander's dick, or _his_ dick into Ander's ass, but it makes them shudder anyway, high on the pleasure that trickles and crackles throughout, the electrifying feeling that travels from Omar's groin to the tip of his toes.

Ander winds his arms around Omar's shoulders, curling his own back awkwardly and tucking his head into the crook of Omar's neck, and that's how he comes, voice muffled to where he's biting into Omar's skin, with cum dribbling down their torso and Omar's fingers. Omar comes a fraction of a beat later, hip bucking sloppily as Ander's ass tightens around his cock, milking him until they're both too sensitive and Omar has to pull out.

Omar ties the condom off and flings it into the trashcan, wincing.

The moments after coming down from a post-coital high is always the most awkward, but Ander is quick-witted and makes it easy for Omar, saying, "I love you," in the most adoring tone, sweaty palms around Omar's neck and their noses touching.

Omar swats at his stomach and the awkward tension breaks before it even gets to form, Ander muffling a laugh into his forearm as he practically falls off Omar's lap and onto the mattress.

"Sap," Omar says, spiteless.

He takes a bunch of tissue from Ander's bedside table to clean himself up, and then Ander when he's no longer laughing, instead watching Omar wipe him clean in content silence. Omar tries to wipe some of the lube stains off the bed sheet but to obviously no avail, and Ander just pushes his hand away, still uncaring, clicking his tongue at Omar. They dress back up after that, and Ander steals innocent kisses inbetween pieces of clothing like a middle schooler. Omar indulges him, anyway.

*

Ander walks Omar home, because he's still a fucking sap like that.

It's still as dark as it was when Omar left home, so hopefully he'll get to nap for a couple of hours before he has to get up for today's Fajr. (His dad usually wakes up like clockwork at a little over an hour before sunrise, so wish him luck.)

Ander waits outside the house, standing close, and Omar can feel his eyes on him as he struggles to get to his room through the window. He's confirmed of that fact when a hand lands itself on his ass, palming his asscheek briefly as Ander chuckles behind him, amused.

"I'll see you this afternoon," Ander says, softly, from the other side of the wall once Omar is back in his room.

"Don't linger too close," Omar reminds him. "My parents might notice."

Ander acts offended at that, gasping theatrically. "How can they ever –" He reaches out to curl his hand around one side of Omar's jaw, Omar's ear between his fingers. "But you're such a _good_ –"

Omar has to bite down the laugh that bubbles up at the back of his throat. "I said shut up," he says, even as his fingers find purchase on Ander's shirt, feeling the warmth of Ander's skin that seeps through the material and pulling Ander closer towards him.

The wall may be standing between them, but their faces are mere centimeters apart, Omar can almost count the individual strands of hair that make up Ander's beautifully arched brows. He reaches up to cradle Ander's face in his hands and, watching the way Ander's gaze drops down to his mouth – like it always, _always_ , does – leans in to kiss Ander.

It's all sorts of soft and very short-lived, but it tugs at Omar's heart like a stubborn, insistent little thing, fragile but persistent – very much like Ander.

"I love you," Omar says, brushing against Ander's lips.

Ander doesn't tell him that he's a fucking sap. Instead Ander smiles, soft and boyish and _beautiful_ , because he's _Ander_ , and Ander is soft and boyish and beautiful and perfect like that.

Ander pulls away first, his own hand lingering on Omar's cheek as he does so, stepping away from the window and under the moonlight.

"Good night," he mouths, complete with a silly little hand salute, as he steps back and doesn't break eye contact until he turns the corner and goes out of eyeshot.

Omar is still smiling to himself when he shuts his window. Nadia is still fast asleep when Omar shucks off his jacket and slings it over the back of his chair.

Ander's smile – the glint in his eyes and the pretty lines around his mouth – is the only thing on Omar's mind as he buries himself under his blanket and falls to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> why do i have 3k of porn..............


End file.
